


fe fest round 7 fills

by callixto (dominionsend), dominionsend



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble Collection, F/F, Missing Scenes, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-15 23:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14800220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dominionsend/pseuds/callixto, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dominionsend/pseuds/dominionsend
Summary: this is just stress relief -- pairing and wordcount in chapter titles, crossposted to thedw community. gonna post 'em daily during posting period til i get to the end of the prompts i took.





	1. lilies o'er spread (tharja/f!robin, 452 words)

**Author's Note:**

> this is just stress relief -- pairing and wordcount in chapter titles, crossposted to the [dw community](https://fe-fest.dreamwidth.org/). gonna post 'em daily during posting period til i get to the end of the prompts i took.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tharja / avatar (f) - "she's sleeping on my doorstep, she hasn't hurt me yet."

“ _Shhh,_ Chrom _._ She’s sleeping on my doorstep - she hasn’t hurt me yet.” Proper rest was essential to the well-being of an army, no matter how far out of reach it was in these days of war. Even if Robin hadn’t believed that with her whole heart -- it was hard not to feel for Tharja, when she’d fretted herself ill over a misplaced lance wound gifted by a Risen.

She’d ever been a terror in battle, yet unforgiving dark magic and a twisted disposition felt more of a comfort than a source of fear when Robin was bleeding out under her hands. Her eyes had flashed desperate and scared, her hair nearly standing on end with the humming of a Nosferatu; she’d cast her tome and modesty aside to drop to her knees and press harshly onto Robin’s wound.

It was shameful, but Robin had nearly thought of Tharja’s devotion as a joke til then. Hadn’t understood it as more than an excuse for her desertion, someone to cling to in this unfamiliar army.

 -- It wasn’t like she had any memories of love, true or false, to compare. 

Lissa hastened to her side with a stave as soon as she caught sight of Robin’s downfall, but she knew enough of war to realize. If Tharja hadn’t been watching so closely, hadn’t channeled the warped healing of Nosferatu into Robin instead of herself, she would have perished then and there.

For that, for her continued survival and the panic she’d seen in Tharja’s dark gaze, Robin would give her this and more. She’d fallen asleep playing watchdog at the entrance to Robin’s tent, drained of magic and any emotion but a weary relief (and still with what would have been Robin’s death haunting her every move). As Chrom watched, Robin knelt next to Tharja and gathered her head into her lap. Stroked through her tangled hair, and shushed him again. “If you wake her, she’ll just worry herself into insomnia. I don’t mind her being here.” _Let her be,_  she left unspoken, and _She deserves this, if nothing else._

Chrom sighed, and resigned himself. “Just… don’t let anyone trip over her and get cursed, alright?”

And really, come to think of it, that was easy enough to remedy and remove from the possibilities of morning. Stifling a laugh, Robin tipped her head in a bow - thanked him for the idea, and carried Tharja into her tent proper.  More than anything, the comfort of a warm body soothed the uneasy dreams of a death averted.

(And the hesitant light of a smile when Tharja woke wrapped in Robin’s arms, so different from the underlying darkness in her previous oaths of love, did just as much).


	2. spring's greatest joy (sumidelia, 681 words)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sumia / cordelia - planting a flower garden.

There was beauty even in war. In the elegant arc of Cordelia’s back in battle, in the play of the sun on everyone’s exhausted faces as a skirmish ended.

It was poetic - and a bit stupid, she could admit - but Sumia wanted nothing other than to share some of those feelings with her as well. In a general sense, of course she wanted everyone to be happy and see what she did; it was nothing short of a miracle that they had all survived, grown closer and made it this far, but her focus would ever be the girl who’d stolen her heart.

She looked up to Cordelia so, so much. That she’d survived the loss of her sisters, that she still had the heart to fight. That she was still strong enough to  _ smile _ , to humor Sumia with a meaningless conversation or a race through the sky when they had time to spare. Even as just another Shepherd, Sumia thought she might be the most impressive of their kingdom. 

She deserved the world, and that wasn’t biased by Sumia’s feelings at all. 

She’d been collecting the wildflowers they passed that grew from corpses or worse, that thrived in this day and age. It had started just to give her material for her fortunes, an anxiety soothed by casting the petals away to answer her petty questions. The seeds had started to build up to a proper collection in her saddlebag, weighing her down and attracting birds, before she thought of something more important to do with them.

The Shepherds’ base camp was settled, now; it was too dangerous to move around constantly, and bad for morale. Their tiny little force could afford a tent for each soldier, a space of their own to hide in or worse.

Of all of them, Cordelia’s tent was the emptiest. When she’d fled for her life, she’d left nearly all her belongings - any trinkets she had, anything she missed, she’d never complain of. Even if she was so strong, so confident, Sumia wanted to give her something soft. Something  _ beautiful _ , in this empty night.

She started planting them on an evening she’d traded her watch shift away, careful not to wake her. Placed the seeds as gently into the ground as she could, allowing herself a presumptuous kiss to each one to bless their growth. The dirt clung to her knees the next day, stuck out against her shining, polished armor, and she passed it off to any who asked as yet another fall.

Wildflowers grew fast, their lives short and fleeting. It took her three nights to plant them all, the earliest poking their heads into the world afore she finished.  It looked like nothing but grass, grown from nowhere but little to question, until a fortuitous rain shower.

The next morning colors sprouted outside Cordelia’s tent, cheerful and speaking of hope and life that went on. Sumia’d hurried to her side, hoping to catch her waking and see if she favored them -- and she was greeted with a smile and overflowing tears. 

She hadn’t thought it’d be so obvious who’d given these to her, but Sumia did suppose her idealism stood out. She held Cordelia to her chest as she sniffled, stammered out apologies and explanations that were brushed off with that still-shining smile. Cordelia was beautiful even covered in tears and the fog of waking. 

When they finally pulled apart, Sumia embarrassed and Cordelia nearly glowing, she’d twined a few of the flowers they’d crumpled under them into Sumia’s tangled hair.

She pressed a kiss to Sumia’s cheek, tucking one last blossom behind her ear, and waved the rest of the Shepherds away from the show. Bedraggled and having attracting attention, utterly embarrassed and charmed, she didn’t think to look at the flower itself til late that afternoon -- a daffodil, speaking of rebirth. Of a new happiness, and that alone would have made this endeavor worth it.

Cordelia twined their hands together at dinner that evening, some of her lingering sadness lifted, and Sumia couldn’t help but smile brighter than ever.


	3. forged of steel (lucisev, 387 words)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lucina / severa - sharp things. collection rated teen solely for sexual undertones in this at ya typical levels.

Severa's smile had always cut sharp as a blade. With the shadows cast dark against her face, the light gleaming off the steel at her throat, it made quite the impression -- flickering candlelight threw her into harsh relief, any sweet softness Lucina could reach for in her love for her cast aside.

There was something cruelly amusing in the chastity dagger hanging from her neck, even as she pressed against Lucina like that. Paranoia of years past, the idea of propriety, tangled in one and discarded for her.

They’d both grown with little enough care to food that their bones still poked out wrong, clashed against each other and stabbed into weak points; just the same could be said for their personalities, their ideals, in all honesty, but they set those aside for these nights. To have something of this heat, to give them something to fight for every other time. It wasn’t that either of them were any less themselves, that they buffed away the war-forged parts of their hearts to fake some useless, romantic theatre. What use would that be, when they scarcely had time to set aside their armor and weapons?

Even secret kisses, pressed carefully into any second they could steal, were backed with canines.

Lucina liked to think, in the moments when they were panting next to each other and quiet, that they’d made each other into what they were. If everyone else was a danger and they the same, it was useful to have a support like this. Someone who saw down to the heart of you, had the same twisted memories and knew you at your worst.

She ran her fingers over each raised line of Severa’s spine, counted out the bones and bruises and arched into her. The watch wouldn’t change for hours more, and their weapons lay close enough to hand to take them up at a moment’s warning. 

(Falchion’s hilt would cut into Severa’s back when Lucina rolled her over, bruises that anyone could recognize if they cared to look. The blades were more of a problem, but they’d long since realized that was unavoidable - a light cut or two was enough price to pay for a stolen night.)

They fell into each other, and never cast aside their awareness of the world around and before them.


	4. catch one's death (henricken, 468 words)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> henry / ricken - sharing a sleeping pallet.

It was too cold in this bitter winter to stand on propriety. (Not that Henry had any anyways, but Ricken was sticking to that as an excuse).

He didn’t seem to feel the cold any more than the bite of pain. When Ricken pulled him into his bedroll, fluttering around him nervously, his nail-beds and lips had long since turned an eerie blue. It was selfish, maybe, leeching off what little heat he had and playing on his sense of humor to draw him in, but Ricken  _ did  _ worry. Once you got used to his sense of humor and the wounds he was always covered in, Henry really wasn’t that bad! It wasn’t his fault he was like that, and half his jokes seemed more to get a reaction than any underlying truth.

\-- Or, really, they might be true, but he hadn’t hurt Ricken or anyone important yet, and he liked to think he was a nice person. He could afford to give his ‘friend’ the benefit of the doubt.

Henry hooked one of his shivering hands into his mouth, felt around at the chattering of his teeth with a gleeful noise that cut through the night. “Is it  _ really _ that cold?? I kinda thought you were all just being cowards, and I’m from Plegia! I’m not used to this weather at all!”

It was hard to sigh when your own teeth were chattering as much as Ricken’s were, but he managed it with a great effort. “Just because you can’t feel it doesn’t mean it’s not cold.. probably worse that way, are you sure you’re not frostbitten?” He pulled the blanket close over their heads, curling into and around Henry and his icy feet.

“Haha, I wouldn’t know even if I was!” 

Ricken didn’t know why he’d bothered to ask. He rubbed his freezing hands over his face, scrubbed at it in a futile hope for warmth. When a hand ruffled through his hair and pinched at his cheeks, he was more surprised that he was warming up enough to feel it than at the sudden touch. 

Just as much a surprise was that Henry’s eyes, bright with interest, didn’t throw off a light of their own. “Are you blushing?” he hummed, “Or is it just your warming up? You’re being a big baby, yanno.” His tone dipped matter-of-fact, and he pressed his feet against Ricken’s shin.

Ricken wheezed out protest, shoving at his side. _ "Too cold for footsie, _ Henry!”

Henry cackled loud enough to wake the dead, entirely unapologetic, and that was excuse enough to devolve into childish wrestling to warm them the rest of the way. Not conducive to sleep, perhaps, but enough fun that it didn’t matter -- and as long as they didn’t freeze to death, that was Ricken’s easy explanation for the morning.


	5. the great evangelist (sharena/veronica, 724 words)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sharena / veronica - "don't you ever wish you had a friend you didn't have to kidnap and make sign a contract?"

"Don't you ever wish you had a friend you didn't have to kidnap and make sign a contract?" Sharena sipped at her tea, crossed one leg over the other. Dropped a cube of sugar into her cup.

Veronica blinked, slow and cat-like. “I’d ask if you’re offering, but I  _ did  _ kidnap you.”

Sharena methodically added another sugarcube to her tea. There wasn’t much to say to the truth, really; it was hardly the coached diplomacy and threats of an usual interlude. Her spear still hung at her side, and the only thing stopping her from attacking was the measured glare of that Nohrian prince. If it weren’t for that little issue of her capture and ransom, it would almost be like they were acquaintances. Nothing so strong as friends, when Veronica acted like a bratty, feral child unfamiliar with the concept, but they were two noble women of equal rank. They ought to have met outside the field of battle, and perhaps shared a drink or a knowing glance.

_ Plink. _ “That’s not my point. Do you? It’s nice to have friends, you know. Someone to rely on so you don’t have to be alone all the time. Someone you can trust not to stab you in the back or leave.” She pushed away thoughts of Zacharias and soldiered bravely on, “Maybe you’d feel better if you found one.”

Veronica’s face creased into a scowl, and Xander took a step forward. “Even another princess has no right to speak that way to my liege.”

_ Plink.  _ “Corrin misses you, you know. They respect your loyalty to one who so badly needs it, but even you must see that Veronica is struggling. Is there a true reason for this war at all? Or is it just old, bitter spite?”

“You --” An imperious wave of Veronica’s hand froze Xander in his tracks as he lifted his weapon, mouth stopping agape. “I’m simply taking what’s mine. That will prove me queen  _ and _ dispose of the nuisance you Askrs cause. Next to that, what do friends matter? I have Bruno, and Xander has chosen to stay with me, and that’s all I need aside from blood.”

_ Plink.  _ Sharena wasn’t sure why she was arguing, beside that someone had to say it. She could quiet herself and have a very nice tea party til everyone arrived to rescue her, and perhaps land the first hit on Veronica. “You’re not lonely at all? You don’t want an equal, or someone who chose you without anything affecting them? Even if Xander stays, you still forced him to in the beginning, and family doesn’t count.”

Veronica glared daggers at her, fists balling into her long sleeves til the edge of the fabric dragged through her cup.

_ Plink. _ Sharena shrugged, setting her cup neatly aside. “I was only asking. I’m not offering to martyr myself, but --”  _ ‘If anything was different, we could have been friends.’ _ “ --I wondered, was all.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Veronica sing-songed, and an awkward hush fell. Sharena sipped at her tea, lacking anything else to busy her mouth -- and spit it right back out, wincing at the sugary sweet taste. She got a laugh out of Veronica if nothing else, and mulled over the idea of a change as they sat and stared. When the knock of a siege began, her brother calling for her, she took the first heat of battle’s opportunity to clasp Veronica’s hand in her own.

“I’m free, aren’t I? No longer your kidnap-ee?” Sharena rushed to get the words out, tripping in her haste. “I can offer now. Watch for my owl, and you can’t refuse! That would be turning down a challenge.” 

It was little to bank on, but Veronica’s eyes fired with interest. “It’s not pity, before you say it! I know we’re enemies, and you don’t need a friend, I know; I’m going to treat you as a respected enemy and equal, so don’t ignore me, okay-- _? _ ” Her frantic nod belied her pout, and Sharena edged around her to watch for Xander’s lance; missed a surprise attack’s warnings watching him til Veronica was on tip-toe up next to her, cupping Sharena’s face in her little hands.

“It’s a promise, then! You can’t let anyone else kill you but me,” she trilled, and that was uncomfortably obsessive (but close enough).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-- and with this one, we're done! i didn't take too many prompts for now, but i'm excited to catch them early and send in some for the next round of fe fest. as usual, catch me on [tumblr](http://parasiteseeing.tumblr.com) or for events you think i'd like, "a href="http://callixto.dreamwidth.org">dreamwidth!"♡ (and gimme prompts urself if you don't wanna wait or hope, my askbox is always open).


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